Placidity
by NeverGoodbyeRoxas
Summary: An ending perhaps not befitting of a Kurosaki. Somewhat HitsuKarin.


Disclaimer: Bleach is the property of Tite Kubo

She spent her childhood waiting, her adolescence dreaming, and her teens remembering. By the time she was twenty, her heart had lost faith. Once upon a time she had expected to become a shinigami, to join the ranks of her father, her brother.

Him.

Everything was lost now, or as lost as it could be in the normalcy of things. Father had passed away protecting both her and Yuzu, only to fail himself. Yuzu didn't escape the Arrancar. Karin saw everything-their deaths, the monster boring over her-no. It was too painful to bring up.

Ichigo though, was still with her and continued the Kurosaki profession quietly. He too had lost, not in the sense of battle, but in something more dear. Rukia could not stay. He could not leave. And that's how it remained.

Perhaps the only thing "Kurosaki" was the continuation of the oversized pictures of Father and Yuzu Ichigo had placed beside Masaki. There wasn't much else. It was always quiet.

It was night by the time she made it home. Ichigo was finishing up another check up as she went upstairs to drop off her knapsack. As she went down, she caught the last goodbyes of the patient and the patient's mother. Ichigo was putting away the medical supplies.

"Need help?" she offered.

He didn't need to pause, his brown hands nimbly reassembling the bandages. "No. Give me a minute to start dinner."

"'K." She began to pick up around the house, putting a mat in place, and sweeping the floor without a sound. From the living room she heard the clank of a metal pot followed by the soft stream of running water. She took a towel to wipe any settling dust on the portraits. There was a click of the stove and the tap of knife against cutting board. She continued to wipe the glass surface, unknowingly tracing the lines of a girlish eye.

Everything was in its place-both clean and organized-so she sat at the table, listening to the whistle of the rice cooker, the sizzling of something, and once, the softened grunt of pain from Ichigo. She made invisible swirls on the table with her fingers that eventually formed into starry skies from some painter she dimly remembered.

"Karin?" Ichigo was standing in the doorway, his expression settled and strange.

"Uh…yea…Ichigo?" She had to swallow to get rid of the awkward movement of tongue. He was quiet and spent a moment glaring at the grainy wooden floor.

"Do you…need help with your homework?" he finally mumbled.

She paused and stumbled for words. "No, I'm fine."

"Alright."

He turned away back into the kitchen without another word. She stared past the table and blinked hard. She continued to stare until a small bowl placed in front of her broke it. Ichigo sat across and immediately scooped rice into his own before picking at the side dishes. It was still quiet, even as his chopsticks hit the bottom of the bowl. She saw the bandage wrapped around his left index finger. His palms were rough and calloused from his previous life, the one of battle, not bandages.

"Ichigo?"

He looked up with placid eyes that reminded her-

"I….don't have homework." He stared, but she saw the line of his mouth soften. It wasn't a smile; neither was it a frown. She too began to eat.

Afterwards, he cleared the table and washed the dishes while Karin sipped at her hot tea. She had acquired a taste for it as a last effort to remind herself of….that time. It turned into habit. In between sips, she heard a good night from Ichigo as he disappeared upstairs. Only a single light kept her from the dark. Perhaps a few minutes later came the slight creaking of the pipes as water flowed through to the upstairs shower. By the time it ended, she was only half way through her cup.

This was how it was, quiet with the exception of a few utility noises, maybe a murmur too. Usually there were no questions though. That had taken her by surprise. She glanced up to the three enlarged photographs. Yuzu, Father, Mother. The three were always smiling.

He never did.

She shook her head.

She finished the rest of her tea quickly, washed and put it away, and readied herself for a shower. The bathroom was still warm and humid. She shampooed, rinsed, and scrubbed. It was short, just the way she preferred. She had to shake her head again. Yuzu liked bubble baths full of pink soap. Her father was a hygienic buffoon, she added as an afterthought. Her pajamas were a plain gray with light green cross-hatchings.

As she threw the towel in a hamper in the closet, she saw that Ichigo's door was slightly open, enough to see it was dark. Hesitatingly, she slowly peeked in, but ended up opening the door anyway. He was asleep. An unmoving Kon was in one hand. The mod-soul had gone down protecting, of all people, Ichigo. There was no known afterlife for him.

A tremor shook the house. A high-pitched screech followed. She watched Ichigo's hand grip tightly, as if a hilt still lay there. Her hand twitched over the cool doorknob. She stepped into the room and walked straight to the open window where she shut it quietly, effectively hushing the noise. A grunt came from Ichigo as he wriggled into the mattress. The door closed with a soft click behind her.

Even as she lay in her own bed made of a few quilts and pillows thrown on the couch, she could feel the pulsing of reiatsu prickling at the edges of her senses. She wrapped herself further into the couch and closed her eyes from the shadows and darkened objects cast a slight blue from the moonlight. Sleep came as it always did-abruptly.

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Consciousness came early. She saw the darkened ceiling and heard her shallow breaths echo in the still dim living room. Swallowing, Karin closed her eyes again, but a knock followed by another lighter one shook her. Almost unknowingly her pale fingers clenched on the plush of the blanket, but she sat up quickly and swung her legs onto the cold floor. It was a short tread to the door. She opened it only to have the chill of the night air fade out as a different numbness spread through her.

It was him.

Even hunched over and with scruffy, bloodied hair, grime stuck to his bare arms and face, and robes tattered into frays, she still knew him dammit. And when he lifted his turquoise eyes to meet her own cool ones, she could not find the resolution to shut the door.

A trail of drying blood led to the patient bedding. Methodically, her hand wiped off the dirt clumped with blood with a moist cloth. After the skin was thoroughly cleansed, she applied the antiseptic to the abrasions on arms, face and hesitatingly, chest. As her fingers nimbly spun the bandaging over the gashes and wounds, she realized how strange this must look, her bandaging some invisible substance sprawled over the table. A chuckle escaped her.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked in a dry, gruff voice. She had forgotten that he remained awake. Her fingers pulled back from the bandaging. Quickly but quietly, she packed away the medical supplies, the sound of opening and closing cabinet doors squeaking through the silence. She washed her hands of the blood and dirt, wiped them dry, and moved over to the couch.

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?" the same raspy voice questioned.

She didn't pause. "No."

The warm couch creaked as she curled into it with the wrinkled sheets wrapped tightly around her rigid body. She could feel the cold seep into her toes so she wriggled them to catch warmth. She made sure to face the couch. The sharp smell of antiseptic lingered with her, stinging her senses into nothing.

"Soul Society has been alerted to an abnormal rate in the spawning of Hollows, specifically related to the vicinity around Karakura town. It's gotten…worse…enough for the soutaichou to send out…." And his voice continued in a lull of multisyllabic sounds that made her blink wearily.

Strange though that a tiny morsel of nostalgia peeked out from the small, dingy cave of her soul, a longing, she supposed, that was born out of disappointment. She squashed those feelings, or at least convinced them into retreating back into their cover where both shadows and shutters could properly conceal.

It wasn't until she heard the rustling of cloth that she noticed the unsettling quiet that could only exist as a consequence of absence.

"Karin," he finally spoke. She didn't turn around.

"I've placed duty before desire many times. It is who I am," she heard him speak softly, but the words had their own echo.

"But even so…" he paused," Even so, I would hope that I am a man who doesn't leave things unifinished…….or forgotten."

The buzzing of the fluorescent light mingled with the slight sound of his low breaths. Karin tucked herself tighter. The rustles were even more apparent, but not more than the faint groan. He had probably sat up.

He took a short breath. "Tell me, am I too late?"

She drew her breath slowly and exhaled just as hesitatingly as she made herself more still. Her spine tingled with the shivers only a fixed gaze could cause. No matter the resolve, the reason, the respite, she could not ignore the effect of his unmoving gaze. She swallowed back the rising urge to waver and instead felt parched. Perhaps years ago there might have been a possibility, chance perhaps, or the fancies of dreams, but she had already crawled away from that childhood cocoon. She couldn't bring herself to speak.

"I am, aren't I?" he asked more softly this time. There was a faint grunt of pain followed by the near soundlessness of movement. He was moving…towards her, she realized after listening to the muffled footsteps. Tensing, Karin readied herself for whatever it would be-a grab, shake, a pull or even a single touch. None of them came.

Instead the sounds passed the sofa, slowly, but nonetheless passed. His was a quavering cadence, so unlike the steady determination that made the boy years ago. It was what had drawn her to him. His protection had fixated her girlish admiration for heroes like her brother upon him. But now he was a ghost of his past, a shade, both transient and wispy compared to his boyish heroism. He was a man now. He was unknown.

She winced.

The creaking of the opening door shook her from her thoughts while the frigid air reminded her to stay awake, at least for this. She heard every abrasive sound as he pulled it wide open with labored breaths. He would be gone-again.

"Wait, To-" she snapped her mouth shut.

A shuffle. "Karin?"

The eagerness in his voice made hers even thicker.

"Get the lights before you go."

The silence could only have dealt weak blows to her now. She waited for it.

Darkness fell upon her with the swiftness of an axe and the fatal thundering of a shut door's click left her alone.


End file.
